Still Human
by Rose G
Summary: Don Beech, locked in his prison cell, hears the news of the firebomb. Even killers have some feelings.


Still Human

Rose G

All characters are the property of Thames TV.

A/N – I wrote this a long while ago, just after the fire, and as far as I can remember, it was consistent with what we knew at the time. I haven't changed anything to fit in with subsequent episodes.

Inmate 65015 or ex- DS Donald Beech swore and sprang up from his bunk, his feet ringing hollowly on the concrete floor. Three firm strides carried him to the wall; he smashed his right fist against it and then doubled up, nursing his bleeding hand.

The newspaper still lay on his bunk, mocking him. The picture on the front page, the blaring banner of a headline, didn't change as he started at it once more. As though his legs had given way, he collapsed onto the edge of his bunk and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. He retched dryly, trying to rid himself of the meal he'd eaten before he'd seen the paper.

Sven dead in Police Station Tragedy. Mutely, he read through the article again. It had been so long since he'd read anything; briefly, he wondered if he needed glasses. He heaved again and again as he recalled the list of the dead, from memory now.

Chief Inspector Derek Conway

Inspector Andrew Monroe

DC Katherine Spears

DC Paul Riley

WPC Diana Worrell

PC Ben Haywood

PC Samuel Harker

Spears and Riley he didn't know, suspected that they'd come in after his downfall, but…his mind raced as he tried to come to terms with it. Conway and Monroe had been ever present in his time at Sun Hill – just two of the senior men who he had always challenged. Sam had been the young, gentle giant of uniform, Di, a young, laughing girl. It was not that bare list that brought the old copper, the murderer, to the brink of tears.

The main picture was of the station, the one place that he still loved; forever safe in his heart. One side, his old domain, was in ruins – black against a blue sky and fluffy white clouds. In the foreground, heaps of floral tributes and messages. And in the centre, his old adversary Meadows, shaven-headed, ashen faced, with Mickey Webb huddled beside him. Danny and Duncan were off to one side, allowing the others their grief. The only remnants of Sun Hill as he had once know it.

His cell mate, Johnny Stevenson, serving eight years for something that he wouldn't discuss with Beech, chose that moment to swagger in from exercise. Beech, with long shaggy hair that was more grey than black now, prone to nightmares and essentially weak, was less than nothing to the younger man who rarely spoke to him. Today though, Stevenson glanced at the paper and then deigned to speak to him.

'Always did like roast pork, eh, Don?' He smiled; a thug's smile missing a front tooth. It turned Beech's stomach.

Although Beech's actions no longer had the sharp snap of youth to them, nor the desperateness of the hunted man, he had police training and something not too far from madness on his side. One hand shot out to grasp at Stevenson's neck; he lunged to his feet and used the sudden motion to push Stevenson backwards. They crashed on the floor, Beech on top. Blood streamed from his injured hand and he relaxed his grip, but Stevenson was winded by the fall.

'Those men were my friends, you bastard! I worked with them. Eight years.' Tear blinded, he managed to slam his good fist into the other man's ribs.

Dimly, Don could hear hurrying feet drumming on the concrete, but beneath him, Stevenson's face seemed to become John's as they struggled that fateful night; was Claire's as she steadied the gun at him, was above all the unidentified face of the nameless man who had destroyed his past. He tried to kill the other man as the parade of those gone seemed – like Macbeth's vision – to reach to the crack of doom.

'I – I couldn't help you…But…I can…now.' His voice was a pain filled growl; the other man was not a bad fighter. 'This-this is for you…lot…an' Maggie. John.' His voice cracked on the last name, gave way to full throated sobs as he fought. A warder arrived then, out of breath.

'Oi! Beech, up. Stevenson, stop it. I said, stop it!' He lashed out with one foot, catching Beech on the stomach and winding him. The warder, who Beech recognised as Martell, dragged him to his feet.

Stevenson, seeing Beech standing mutely and in pain, got to his feet and walked over to the other warder who had just turned up. He looked back over his shoulder at Beech, spat on the floor and then he was gone.

Martell sighed as he looked at the man standing next to him. Beech had been a worry to them all since he arrived – sometimes silent and withdrawn, other times laughing at some private joke, always seeming to verge on madness or a suicide risk –but never violent until now. Looking around the bleak cell, he tried to work out why this fight had flared up. A man with fewer years in the job would have been moved to pity by Don's face as Martell picked the paper up and shoved it in his direction. Don shut his eyes, but the image was burnt into his brain, Meadows with his arm around Mickey in front of the ruins – a private moment, never meant to be shared.

Taking Beech's reaction as an explanation of why this had happened, Martell turned and walked out, stopping to talk to Stevenson outside the door. Left alone, Beech crumpled to his bed again. His once handsome face was twisted in despair. Just because he was inside, because he was a killer, didn't mean that he didn't have feelings. No-one had told him. No-one had come to see him. Had they all forgot him?

Then, just for a second Don sensed another presence in the cell – a mocking, angry presence. Seemed to see a misty image of fiery hair, gleaming eyes. Heard a faraway echo of a Scouse growl. 'They're with me now, Don. They're safe no, forever. And I haven't forgotten you – mark my words, I haven't forgotten you.'

His blood running cold, Beech scrambled to his feet and out of the cell, but John's ghost stayed with him. John and these new ghosts would never leave him alone; never grant him a minute's reprieve from what he had done.


End file.
